Chapter 9
CHAPTER 9
H ester left the mercantile, thankful the store had been too full of Christmas buyers for the Cobbs or the other customers to pay her any heed. Once outside the store, she pulled her neck scarf tighter on her face to protect her nose from the sharp wind and adjusted the strap of her heavy burlap bag higher on her shoulders.
Thrusting a hand into her pocket, she clenched her fingers around the hot stone, which she’d slipped into a tiny, knitted cozy. Luckily, she’d been able to heat this one and its mate on the mercantile’s potbellied stove.
Seeing a group of warmly clad young riders coming toward her from the direction of the livery, Hester stepped far to the side of the road to let them pass. Four boys, well, three of them almost young men, rode by with a blond girl in their midst, her dress kilted up to display trousers underneath. They talked and laughed, obviously a close-knit bunch.
School must have let out early.
Behind the riders came a tiny buggy pulled by two miniature horses, one gray and one black, and driven with obvious expertise by a bundled-up woman.
With an indrawn breath, Hester stopped short to watch them pass. The Falabellas Jimmy described! And those must be the Thompsons, a family of three adopted boys, a son and daughter from each of their previous marriages. They have a toddler, too. She looked but didn’t see the girl next to her mother. She must be snug at home.
With awe, she watched the miniature horses and, for the first time in her life, an intense longing for something that wasn’t a house and garden or being with her brother possessed her.
I wish, I wish …. Hester didn’t even know what she wished. For the confidence to follow and go up to the woman, introduce myself, and pet the horses? To ride behind them in that buggy? To have one of my own?
Each and every action seemed impossible.
By the time Hester caught her pessimistic thoughts, the parade of Thompsons had picked up speed and moved down the street.
Did I not just promise to do better? But how?
An answer came quickly. In the future, I can linger after church and meet and talk to people instead of scurrying off.
Oh, but how hard that will be.
No one here knows you’re illegitimate.
As if coming out of a trance, she shook her head and glanced around.
About twenty paces to the left, a well-dressed man in a bowler hat, an olive-green wool scarf around his neck and pulled high over his ears about, seemed to scrutinize her.
Quickly, she lowered her gaze and turned her head back toward the street. She took a breath and peeked at him from the corner of her eye.
He still watched her. With a smile and a nod, he strode her direction. Avoiding a large sheet of dirty snow, he halted three feet away. “Miss Smith.” He tipped his hat, exposing his thick, auburn-and-white hair. “I’m Andre Bellaire. I apologize for not introducing myself sooner.”
Shyness gripped her throat. Distinguished gentlemen didn’t notice Hester Smith, much less converse with her. Here is the man who’d so generously paid for my supplies. I must say something.
Mr. Bellaire settled his bowler back in place and lifted his chin to indicate his waiting coach. “ My daughter should be here momentarily. She’s doing a last-minute check on the church’s Christmas décor.” He patted his jacket pocket. “While I had to pick up the mail.” He winked at her. “And a few parcels that arrived.”
Envy squeezed her heart. She imagined the loving holiday his family would experience, much like the ones she had with Lovie’s family, although those undoubtably were far less lavish. Hester managed to get out the words, “I’m sure everything will be beautiful.”
He dipped his head a bit to give her a penetrating look. “Somehow, when I’ve been at church, I always seem to miss you. Then, too, having guests has kept me preoccupied.”
That’s because I arrive at the last minute, sit in the back, and slip away on the final Amen. But she could hardly say so. “Mr. Bellaire, I hope you are well,” she stammered.
He frowned.
But, somehow, she knew the frown wasn’t for her.
“My daughter fusses about my health, sometimes, and I must indulge her.”
You almost died on the train here. Of course, she fusses! “I’d give anything to have a father to fuss over.” The words tumbled out before Hester could grab them back. Oh, good grief! I hope he doesn’t think I’m criticizing him!
His expression softened. “Not a day goes by when I don’t thank the good Lord for the gift of my daughter and the family she married into. I’m richly blessed.” He directed a penetrating stare her way. “And you, Miss Smith, how are you settling in?”
“Fine, just fine.” She rushed to assure him lest, he mention her lack of family or offered to invite her to Christmas dinner. “Everyone I’ve met has been so kind.”
“Is there anything you need?”
Hester backed away a step. “No, no. I’m fine. Really. Thank you. You, ah, have already done so much. Don’t worry about me, please.”
Oh, goodness, I sound like an empty-headed female.
“I know from your brother that you’re an avid gardener. I’m sure your and Dale Marsden’s gardens will soon rival each other.”
She waved her hand in a dismissive motion. “Oh… Mr. Marsden’s is long established, and mine… Well, I did bring seeds.”
“I showed your brother the roses in my conservatory. I’d like you to see them, too, sometime this summer.”
“Oh…”
He frowned. “If you’re worried about a chaperone, I’ll make sure my daughter is home.”
Horrified she might have offended him, Hester hurried into words. “Oh, no. I mean, I wouldn’t worry about you, uh…” Oh, dear Lord! Could my tongue become any more tangled?
His expression eased. He gestured down the empty street. “I saw you eying Samantha Thompson’s Falabellas. Magical little creatures, aren’t they? Chito is the black stallion, and Mariposa, the gray mare. I have a pair of my own that are a beautiful sable color. Well, really, I bought them for my grandson. But I don’t say so. My daughter and son-in-law would prefer I rein-in my tendency to spoil him.”
“Yes, dear Micah.” She relaxed a bit when he didn’t further inquire into her well-being.
“A scamp, that boy is.” His hazel eyes gleamed with pride.
Hester had the feeling that Mr. Bellaire was rambling to put her at ease. His attempts aren’t working. She wondered how soon she could escape.
“If you’re interested in meeting our Falabellas, or even a drive, Micah or Sam or I could take you.”
Oh, how dearly I wish. But the very idea of imposing made anxiousness heat her face, which, in turn, embarrassed her. Oh, dear, I must be turning bright red. She shook her head.
“Or Delia, if you’d be more comfortable with a female driver.”
“No, no. Really, I couldn’t.” Hester backed away. “So thoughtful…. Thank you, for, ah, everything.” She hefted her bag as an excuse. “I’d best be getting home. Good day to you, Mr. Bellaire. Please give my regards to your family.” She fluttered her free hand in a partial goodbye wave. “Oh, and Merry Christmas.”
She turned and skittered off, almost bumping into her neighbor, who stood a few paces behind them. Hester swerved around Mr. Marsden as quickly as she could manage without looking like she was fleeing both men.
It wasn’t until Hester rounded the corner and was out of sight that she slowed, took a shuddering breath, and chastised herself for her reaction. Mr. Bellaire must think I’m terribly rude. Nor did I stop to thank Mr. Marsden for the wood.
The cold wind buffeted her. Hester shivered, glanced at the darkening sky, and hastened on. I told myself I’d try harder to be friendly, and I just failed my first opportunity.
Dale walked up Main Street just in time to observe the longing on Miss Smith’s face as she watched Samantha Thompson drive past in the tiny sleigh. Usually, Dale would also stop to observe the Falabellas, because he was just as taken with them as any other human. Not that he’d ever tried to get close to the miniature horses.
As he focused on Miss Smith, curiosity made him wait and watch her conversation with Andre Bellaire. He didn’t need to hear their words to know that the man had probably made one of his generous gestures, perhaps an invitation to Christmas dinner, and in the process, thoroughly discomposed the woman, considering how quickly she’d rushed away. In her haste, Dale didn’t think she’d even noticed him. I was probably just a male pillar to be skirted around.
But as Andre Bellaire stared after her, he looked so hurt that Dale took pity on him and moved closer, thinking to offer an explanation that might ease his mind. “Mr. Bellaire, Miss?—”
“I want you to call me Andre like the rest of my friends do.” His tone sounded sharper than Dale had ever heard from the man.
We’re friends? Dale considered. I suppose we may be getting there. Not sure about using given names, though, but I’ll try.
Andre’s tense expression softened. “I apologize. It’s just…I’m not used to frightening ladies to the point where they run away before I can even offer a ride home. And here I was babbling out questions in a futile attempt to make conversation. Heavy going, I must say.”
“Mr. Bellaire, uh, Andre, as I was about to explain, Miss Smith is terribly shy, like her brother.” Like me.
“I should have realized.” Andre sighed, then unexpectedly chuckled. “You two must make interesting neighbors. Have you exchanged a word yet?” he teased.
“Miss Smith and I have talked.” Defensiveness made Dale’s voice sound stiff.
Embarrassed, he softened his tone. “She’s adopted a dog. Named her Lucy. Appealing critter. Miss Smith is low on wood, and I’ve been adding to her woodpile.” Secretly.
“Ah. Sounds like you’ve become good friends.” Andre gave Dale a sly look. “If you ever want to borrow my Falabellas, with either the buggy or sleigh, feel free to do so.”
Puzzled, Dale tilted his head. “Why would I need to borrow your Falabellas?”
Andre’s eyes twinkled. “I’m sure they’ll charm Miss Smith like they do everyone else.”
Of course, I’m charmed. “I don’t think anyone in Sweetwater Springs hasn’t enjoyed watching the Falabellas,” he downplayed, lest the man continue pressing the offer of a drive on him. And why mention Miss Smith?
But Andre’s knowing glance showed Dale he hadn’t succeeded in hiding his reaction.
“Are you familiar with the stories of their magic?”
“Magic,” Dale scoffed. How I wished for magic as a child.
“There’s something about riding in a tiny sleigh or buggy pulled by the Falabellas that adds a little… sparkle of love to a courting couple.”
Dale raised his eyebrows. “Maybe you should avail yourself of the Falabellas’ magic.”
“Harrumph.” Andre briefly shifted his gaze to the side and cleared his throat.
Dale folded his arms. “Let’s just say that your proprietary air with Miss Collier at church didn’t go unnoticed.”
The brief flash of sadness in Andre’s hazel eyes took Dale aback.
“I’m too old.” Obvious bleakness lay under Andre’s even tone. “My heart’s too creaky to be a courtin’ man. Miss Collier deserves better.”
Dale wasn’t so sure Miss Collier agreed. But who am I to offer romantic advice?
With an audible breath, the man pulled himself together. “Now, about my Falabellas…” He went on the attack—Andre Bellaire style. “They are quite easy to drive. No need to fear causing an accident.”
“I know how to drive,” Dale muttered. His choice of a simple life in a small, remote town included the decision not to keep a stable, even though he’d once enjoyed riding and driving for pleasure and to escape his family for a few hours.
“Good, good. No need to even check with me,” Andre said in his regular jovial tone. “When you want to borrow the Falabellas, go directly to Sam. He has a very snug home above the stables.”
Dale shook his head at Andre’s persistence and raised a hand in farewell. “Have a Happy Christmas.” He strode off, still feeling the man’s amused gaze following him.